TorchwoodTime Lords
by torchwoodtimelord
Summary: At the end of the universe, on the planet of New Gallifrey, the last generation of Time's Children are turning against one another. Commander Harkness & Wikipedia must sort it out. But what do you do when the enemy is one of your own? - NOTICE: HIATUS
1. Prelude

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Doctor Who. I don't own Torchwood. They belong to our lord and masters, the BBC.**

* * *

**TORCHWOOD-TIME LORDS**

**Prelude**

There is a saying among the Archivists.

_The worst live long, the good die young, and the best are killed by aliens._

It isn't much of a comforting thought, but it's the truth. It's the least anyone has to worry about, all things considered. But there's one more, drilled into the fresh young mind of every man, woman, or creature that passes through the doors.

_The Rift is not a toy, time is not linear, and the future is not absolute. Anyone can disappear in the fraction of the time it takes to blink. In one night, an infinite number of worlds can be created or destroyed. And never attempt to take out a Dalek with a paint ball gun._

These things are drilled into every new recruit. Every Archivist lives and dies by these rules.

And in a matter of days the foundations of knowledge, integrity, and responsibility crumbled. In a few short days, the universe itself changed. And what was once only a distant memory became a the defining moment for a new generation of renegades.

_**And Torchwood was not ready.**_


	2. A1 Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Doctor Who. I don't own Torchwood. They belong to our lord and masters, the BBC.**

* * *

**TORCHWOOD-TIME LORDS**

**Act 1 - The Archives; Chapter 1**

Hunched over a desk, a young man was reading through file after file. Paper after paper. Once in a while he reached for the cup on the corner, sipping the once warm, now stone cold tea with a groan. Picking up his pen, he signed off a few more as the door to the small room, formerly a broom closet, opened to a slightly larger waiting area.

"Sir, you've been shut up in here all morning. I think it's time for a break."

"Can't," he said. "Have to finish going through-"

The other stood in the doorway, giving him a heavy stare. "It wasn't a suggestion. Come on. I can hear your stomach grumbling from the 99th floor."

"But-"

"Your sister always complains you're too skinny. Need to feed you every once in a while."

He sighed, giving a small nod as he finished up by dropping a large stack of folders in the "Out" bin. Rising from his antique leather chair, the joints creaking as it was freed from his weight, he glanced down at his watch. "Well, I have been in here for a while. Wouldn't hurt to stop off in the canteen."

His assistant rolled his eyes, giving a bit of a jump when he felt his boss's hand against his lower back when he passed by.

"Marjorie, heading out for a bite. If anyone calls-"

"Keep them on hold and force them to listen to The Song that Never Ends. Yes sir, I know," she said, filing the nails on two of her six hands. She smacked her gum in a way that only told him she was annoyed he had even spoken to her.

When the pair left the waiting area, they navigated through the halls of storage. Mostly cleaning supplies that had been removed from their previous place in the office, but a few bits of recognizable technology called the hodge-podge home. They had opted to take the lone maintenance transporter up rather than the elevator. For some reason, his assistant explained, it kept stopping between floors 13 and 14. Maintenance have yet to figure out why. "I can see the practicality of a spork, really. But wouldn't this be easier if we had a plain old fork?" Quin asked as he caught a bouncing piece of what looked to him like a raddish, but it certainly was something else entirely. "And for once, I'd like food that's already dead when I get it."

"It's supposed to move like that. Just drop it in the soy sauce. Usually keeps 'em still for a while." He smirked, trapping one of the escaping foodstuffs with his spork so suddenly it startled his assistant. "Stop complaining. At least it isn't Mystery Meat day."

"Don't remind me. I don't think I'll ever look at those dinner ladies the same way again." Quin laughed as he shook his head, spotting his employer glancing at his wrist. "No work at the lunch table."

"Sorry," he said. "Just checking on the-"

"No work at the lunch table," he repeated sternly, not even looking at his plate of twitching vegetables as another raddish-looking bit of food tried to make its escape.

A hand reached out, snatching the bobble before it could bounce off the table. "Come on, how else are we supposed to get hold of him if he's not in the office, eh?"

Quin groaned as the young man pulled a chair over from another table, turning the back around before straddling it. His white coat hung open, exposing a tie-dyed t-shirt over a pair of jeans. He pulled his glasses from one pocket as he fumbled in another for his PDA. "We're having problems working around the temporal dispersal unit. Each time we-"

"Medi, can't you see we're eating?" Quin mumbled, playing with his unappealing food.

The man across from him gave a pleading look before his assistant finally gave in. "Fine. I've lost my appetite anyway." Rising from his seat, he picked up his tray. He thought to ask if he should take the other, but the pair of them were munching away from it as they spoke.

He cleared his throat, trying to get their attention. On the forth try, he finally got results.

"What?"

"Don't forget your appointment with the specialists from sector 97 this afternoon," Quin said before turning on his heel and leaving them to their technobabble.

—

The better part of the day after lunch had been spent running back and forth across floor 99. Keeping the administrative staff in order as reports from across the complex came flooding in about experements gone wrong.

He checked his watch, frantically trying to clean up his desk.

"Mr. Verta," a woman's voice hissed through the speaker mounted on the wall behind him. "Mr. Verta, the specialists from-"

He smashed his thumb down hard on a button in his desk. "Sorry, Nimam, but could you stall them for a few minutes."

"Sir?"

"The Commander hasn't come up yet. And my office is a mess. Just five minutes, tops."

He heard her groan after he took his thumb off the button. "Yes sir," she muttered before cutting the connection.

Quickly, he tidied up his desk, sorting the papers with seemingly unnatural speed and precision which only obsessive compulsive disorder could allow. Glancing back at his watch once again, he sighed and adjusted his tie. Reaching out, he pressed the intercom button once again. "Nimam, I'm ready. After you send them in, please track down Commander Harkness and remind him of the meeting with the terraformation specialists."

He took his finger off the button momentarily. Her voice came out of the speaker again. "Would you like me to use reminder tactic 42, Mr. Verta?"

He grinned to himself, a slight flicker of delight coursing through him. He thought a moment, then shook his head. No, it would be best not to frighten their poor visitors with the inevitable panic result. He reached for the button. "No. Use tactic 17, and make sure he understands that if he does not comply, his ship will be impounded."

He sat back in his chair, rocking gently with an amused smirk on his face. Fourth day in his new administrative position, and he was enjoying himself despite the headaches of the office.

The door opened, and he rose to his feet. His smirk faded into a small, polite smile as he rounded the desk, his hand extended out to shake that of a young woman's.

"Doctors Nall, Cowen, and Mardis. It is a pleasure to meet you. I apologize for the Commander's tardiness. You must understand that ensuring the Archives function like a well oiled machine can sometimes cut into personal face time with our esteemed colleagues in the scientific community."

The woman returned his smile, but her companions were far less forgiving.

"Please, have a seat," he said, rounding his desk again an tapping a button three times. The floor before his desk opened up, and three plush chairs rose up from beneath. He waited until they were seated before sliding back into his chair.

"Now then, let's discuss this project of your's. I assume that in such uncharted territory..."

As he continued his lines of stalling bullshit, he wondered what exactly was holding up his employer, who usually jumped at the chance to meet with the scientists he sent out to explore the universe.


	3. A1 Chapter 2

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Doctor Who. I don't own Torchwood. They belong to our lord and masters, the BBC.**

* * *

**TORCHWOOD-TIME LORDS**

**Act 1 - The Archives; Chapter 2**

In a small apartment, tucked away in the bowels of the city of New Septimus, a series of computers whirred away. Scrolling. Scanning. Searching. Far and wide the information had come. Wires scattered, plugged into machines that seemed to have no purpose until...

And then, one by one, the computers stopped. Faces, names, dates flashed on each of the screens. Detailed accounts of events and timetables of projects both private and public.

A squeak, as if an old chair needed to be oiled. A vague outline of a figure in the light given off by the computer screens.

A smirk. "Gotcha."

A computer went dead.

"What?"

Another cut out in a shower of sparks.

"No no no. Don't do this. Not now!"

The figure stepped into the light of the remaining screens, working quickly. "Come on old girls, don't kick out now."

He stiffened, his hands stopping, slowly rising from the keypads.

"Naughty naughty," a voice, low with a gravel-like quality said from the darkness behind him.

His computers, rather, what remained began to overheat. Acrid smoke filled his nostrils as another died out in a brilliant shower of sparks and flame.

"I wouldn't, if I were you," the voice said, its owner just beyond the feeble light.

He was quick, his hands flying over the last keypad.

There was a flash of golden yellow in the darkness.

He screamed, falling to his knees in agony. But his hand came down one final time.

His old and gnarled fingers forcing in the final command.

As his flesh wrinkled, shriveled, and cracked, his finger hit the ENTER key seconds before the last computer burst into flame.

---

"I don't see why I had to come all the way down here," he grumbled, pulling his coat tighter against the freezing rain. "I could be kicking back on the ruby beaches of Niadef Delta. Why couldn't Smith's team deal with-"

"Sir!" a six armed, orange woman said, snapping to attention while giving a salute as they approached.

"I'm no officer, soldier," he said, looking at her with a forced polite smile. "You can stand down."

She nodded and held up the yellow tape. He passed beneath it, cursing the rain once again.

He approached the door to Rygel Apartments. A woman stepped out from under the shelter of an umbrella.

"Dr. Tyler," she said loudly. He looked at her then nodded towards the door before passing through into the dim entryway.

"...and all the transporters are jammed. The elevator wires are all cut. We've got a team setting up a portable transmat system, but without proper coordinates..."

He passed by the constable, the woman trailing close behind him.

"Why am I here, Miss?..."

"Inspector Kesh Phiket Zeshoy."

"Any shorter name I could call you?"

She nodded. "Zeshoy would be best," she said.

"Right..." He glanced around before looking straight at her again. "And?"

"Oh, right," Her pink cheeks turned a faint purple before she nodded again. "I felt it best to call in an expert."

"Murders aren't exactly-"

"There's a double deadlock on the transporters, and the neighbor that phoned in the... incident is up there by herself trying not to be sick. She says she heard a noise in the middle of the night and-"

"Cut to the good bits, Inspector," he said coldly.

"Right. Well, from what the forensics team has been able to get so far... Well... have a look for yourself," she said, gesturing to the ladder. "After you, sir."

They climbed seven flights before having to stop. Every other floor she led him away to the security panel to view the footage, confirming each time that no one was about during the time frame.

When at last they reached the last obstacle, she waited with him for the last ladder to be secured.

"They really ought to have put in stairs rather than elevators," she said, leaning against the faux-wood paneling.

"I'll put in a word to the zoning commission," he replied, checking his PDA again. Nothing out of the ordinary in the immediate vicinity. He raised it up, slowly sweeping the wall until he reached the ceiling.

"Inspector, what exactly did the neighbor say when she called in?"

"That Mr. Lhiahm was, well."

"Spit it out woman."

She swallowed hard. "He was... dried up, sir."

"How? Describe it to me, what she said."

"To be honest, I'm not exactly sure. At the briefing-"

"All clear!" someone shouted from above.

He nodded, but did not put his instrument away just yet. "You go on up. I'm going to do a few more scans."

Again she swallowed hard, then gave a nod to him before leaving him to it. A few moments of silence ticked by before he heard the first scream.

Turning on his heel, he ran for the end of the hall, towards the ladder. Shoving personnel out of the way, he climbed, pulling himself up as quick as he could through the hole cut into the ceiling.

"Ma'am, ma'am calm down!" he heard Inspector Zeshoy shout out above the hysterical screams.

A woman flew out of a doorway. He quickly scanned with his eyes the floor as he went. Mentally, he traced the path of the readings he had picked up from one floor below.

Running, he skid to a stop, having to take a few steps back to reach the doorway as the woman pressed herself to the wall. "Inspector!"

"Sir!"

"Get this woman out of here. Everyone on this floor, get them quarantined at the nearest medical facility!"

"Yes sir!" she replied, taking the woman roughly by the arm. The men that had climbed up behind him saw her, moved out of her path.

"Well you heard the man, hop to it!" she snapped, her words seeming to bite the air itself.

He stepped into the room, his PDA out. With it, he swept the front room of the apartment, following the data it was receiving until...

Even his strong stomach wasn't ready for what he had found.

The smoke had long since gone, but he could still tasted the scent of burning flesh on his sensitive tongue. Quickly, he pulled a handkerchief from his pants pocket, pressing it against his nose and mouth in an attempt to keep out the stench and taste. But it was not much use. Turning from the scene, he surveyed the room quickly.

Star charts pinned up to the walls. Disks and, of all things, books scattered across every surface. Old books, ancient books. These drew his attention. He tried not to look at the body, turning his back on the mummified remains that were once, according to Inspector Zeshoy, a Mr. Lhiahm.

Speaking of the Inspector...

He heard a cough from the doorway as he flipped through one of the old books.

"Sir."

"Inspector, how is the witness?"

"She's out for the count. Had one of the lads pop her with a sedative. She'll be lucid for a while."

"Good. Have you gotten the other residents on this floor out?"

"Yes sir. None of them saw or heard a thing. We think the main witness shares a wall with the victim. That's why-"

"Have the rest of the residents, and the building Retconned. Call the Tower and request that they be placed elsewhere. Anywhere but here. If anyone asks, tell them..."

"The building is under Quarantine. I understand," she said. It wasn't her first time on a large job like this. She'd been on many a clean-up crew before rising through the ranks.

He stopped looking through the book, frowning as he came to a page with handwritten notes in the margins. "Leave. I'm going to do a few more scans for analysis before returning to the office."

She gave a small nod, turning to go. "Sir?" she asked, turning back around.

"Yes, Inspector Zeshoy?"

"Do you have any idea," she said, nodding to the victim, "What could do something like that?"

He glanced back down to the book before closing it. "Not yet," he said, despite having an idea forming already. "But I can see why you decided to call in an expert. Good instincts."

She lingered a few moments more before departing. As soon as he was sure she had gone, he slipped the book he had been looking at in his pocket. Turning his PDA towards the victim, he put the handkerchief back to his face.

There was no doubt about what he was picking up. The energy signature was most definitely something that didn't appear naturally on New Gallifrey...


	4. A1 Chapter 3

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Doctor Who. I don't own Torchwood. They belong to our lord and masters, the BBC.**

* * *

**TORCHWOOD-TIME LORDS**

**Act 1 - The Archives; Chapter 3**

_"I've waited two hundred thousand years for this," he sneered, leveling the pistol against the young man's temple. _

_"You're insane!" _

_"Am I?" he asked, giving a horrifying cackle before breaking into a fit of coughing. "What makes you say that? Is it the holes in your flesh I put there? Or is it the way I led you along like a lost cocker spaniel?" He smiled, a twisted manic grin before allowing the muzzle of the gun to slide down along his cheek. _

_"You don't have to do this, Scholar! I can take you away from here, away from this miserable planet where you can start new and-" _

_"Oh shut up!" he shouted, pistol whipping the young man before stepping away and pulling at his hair in frustration. "What is it with you people!" he roared angrily. "I don't WANT to start a new life! I don't want your pity or your compassion!" _

_Blood dribbled down his chin, and he spat a wad of red phlem onto the cold cement floor. "Tell me what you want, Scholar," he managed to croak out. "And it's your's." _

_"The access codes to the Rift machine." _

_"I-" _

_"You said whatever I want," he laughed. _

_James' head fell forward. The pain was too great. Though he knew he would heal in time, this man, this so-called Scholar knew far more than he had let on. Knew just what to do to him, when to do it. As if he knew exactly... _

_He felt the pressure of the gun's muzzle against his temple again. "The access codes, Harkness!"_

_-~-_

He woke with a start, gasping for breath as if returning from the depths of nothingness. His chest ached as if he'd been slammed with a large hammer. He ran a hand through his hair before turning his head to look around.

It was not the dank, miserable catacombs beneath the Great Cobalt Pyramid. There were no skeletons of old work stations and broken glass walls of once splendid boardrooms.

His breathing eased some as he remembered where he was. In bed; the sheets soaked with his sweat. The soft orange sun dulled to a somber dark red by the shaded windows spanning from floor to ceiling.

It was his bedroom in the Northern Tower, not the scene of tragedy he so vividly remembered.

He heard a chirping. Reaching beneath the pillows, he sought his most precious tool. Turning quickly, he found the noise and killed it with a blinding blue glow accompanied by a sound so distinctly... sonic.

After a moment, he realized it had only been his alarm, going off at the time he'd set it for the night before. Groaning, he pulled himself out of the bed, making a mental note to replace his alarm at some point during the day. Maybe he could put the burden on Quin for it.

Speaking of...

He smelled the faint aroma of rich columbian beans. No doubt his assistant had already stopped by, making sure he had everything he needed to start off the day. How did James ever manage to survive before picking up the earthling?

Despite his distaste for coffee, citing that the flavor reminds him of battery acid mixed with old gym socks and covered up with copious amounts of sugar, he had taken to drinking it at Quincy's insistance, saying he needed to be more alert and awake during a normal workday. He couldn't argue with him much there. When danger and adventure were lacking, he tended to spend the hours in his office sleeping or playing solitaire on his wrist strap.

He enjoyed the smell of the brew more than the taste, and decided to leave the coffee alone for the moment as he set about his morning ritual. Change. Go for a run in the stairwell. Return, shower, and change again before breakfast on the run.

As he had been preparing his favorite "dine and dash" breakfast, he noticed a note taped to one of his cabinets. It was Quincy's handwriting. However, where it was usually neat and perfectly spaced, it was now rushed and smushed together. But it was definately the writing of his assistant. There was a frowny face over the letter i in "office".

He quickly spread butter and jam on a piece of toast. Shoving it in his mouth he downed half a cup of coffee as he crossed his appartment, setting the cup down on the table by the door as he grabbed one of his antique coats from the stand and made a run for the transmat.

---

Quin was pacing the floor in his office as Medicus scrolled through papers on his data pad.

"Where the hell is he!"

"He'll be here," Medicus said.

"I tried calling him and-"

"All his calls get forwarded to his secretary, who sends them directly to a kebab stand."

Quin nearly snarled at his work collegue. "The number He gave me always gets through. Special phone. Never runs out of power."

"Whatever you say mate," Medicus mumbled, taking his glasses off and leaning back in the chair with a groan. "Why don't you sit down, take a load off. You look downright ugly when you're angry."

Quin shook his head and continued to pace. "No. He deserves a good smack in the gob when he comes in."

"Right," Medicus said. "Maybe we should just go over the data again. Might find something else to help with the-"

"We've gone over it a hundred times already, Medi. There's no explanation for it other than that. And even then, how the hell? All the way out here? And why now? Why not-"

"Mr. Verta," Nimam's cheerful voice cut into his rant. "Commander Harkness has arrived, should I-"

When he reached his desk, he slammed his finger down on the button so hard that Medicus could swear he had heart something crack. "For fuck's sakes, just send him in!"

"No need to be so rude about it, Mr. Verta," the female voice snapped at him before the door came open.

James looked nearly like a wildman. His clothes certainly didn't match the brown coat he wore. Though given the circumstances, he hadn't had the time to think when he'd gone out the door. "Where's Jens?"

Quin stopped pacing and settled on the corner of his desk. The gob smack would have to wait for later, he had decided.

"She's out on clean-up with the locals," Quin said, shifting from his frustration to his serious yet detatched mode far more easily than he could before entering the ranks of Torchwood. "There was another spike early this morning."

"And none of you thought to wake me up?"

"For the love of-" Medicus started, but Quin interrupted him.

"We tried. Kept getting the kebab stand down on Smith and Potter," he said. "Up until now, these things have been benign. We were getting hit with the occasional side swipe of a open ended rift."

Medicus nodded, bringing up the readings he'd taken at the first crime scene, then the second in the early hours of the morning. He gave the pad to James, who looked them over with great scrutiny. "The energy signature is identical to the one found at the Rygel scene out in New Septimus."

"Anything else?" James asked, setting the pad down on Quincy's desk when he moved to sit behind it.

Medicus nodded. "Yes, sir," he said, shifting his weight to his other foot. "We've finally been able to recover the data from the computers at the Rygel scene. Lhiahm was working on some heavy research. He was a professor at the Sato University of Physical Sciences until his theory of Rift Travel was discredited. He was hired into the Tower shortly after that, and remained a steady employee until around 18 months ago."

"You got all that from his autopsy report?" Quin asked.

Medicus shook his head, looking down at his shoes against the plush carpet of the office. "No. His personel file states he simply stopped showing up for work one day. If there was a follow-up, it was not documented," he said.

James nodded, listening as he tapped on the desk quietly, thinking. "What kind of work was he doing prior to his death?" he asked. It was the obvious question, getting back on track after his brother had taken a conversational detour. He couldn't fault him. Brilliant minds hardly ever stayed on one subject at a time.

"Right," he said, picking up his data pad and scrolling through it again. "We weren't able to recover much, but we were able to find out that whatever he was doing, he passed it along to someone else."

"This someone else," Quin said. "Is our second victim."

"Another former employee?"

They shook their heads in unison. "No," Medicus said. "She's a student. A medical intern at the Harper School of Medical Sciences."

James was silent, considering this.

"Her computers were less damaged than Lhiahm's set up. We were able to map out where she forwarded the information to. However, our liason with the police has reported back that such location doesn't exist. Not on this world."

* * *

A/N - Sorry for the extended hiatus. I'm in the middle of transferring all of the chapters from their original formats and place on the interwebs.


	5. A1 Chapter 4

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Doctor Who. I don't own Torchwood. They belong to our lord and masters, the BBC.**

* * *

**TORCHWOOD-TIME LORDS**

**Act 1 - The Archives; Chapter 4**

She sipped her hot drink carefully, trying not to burn her tongue as she waited. The weather had taken an unreasonable chill the last few nights. She was starting to become superstitious of it. Cold nights were hardly ever a thing to look forward to from the start. But now...

She sighed, watching her breath float outward and skyward before taking another sip of the steaming liquid in the toss-away cup.

"Inspector," came a voice.

"Dr. Tyler, didn't expect to see you down here among the riffraff," she said, giving a small smile. She'd been expecting someone else, one of the lower ranking Archivists that usually were sent out to meet her. So it was beyond saying that when she looked up to see the head of Torchwood Research and Development staring down at her, it was a rather suspicious suprise. "What brings you down to the wrong side of the Towers?"

He looked to the vendor, holding up a finger. Quickly, the warm drink was dispensed in a smaller size than the one Inspector Zeshoy was holding between her hands. Reaching into his coat, he dropped a bill on the makeshift counter. "Keep the change," he said. "Might want to close up shop for the night, too."

The young woman looked up at him, watching as he took a sip of his drink, uncaring of the painful heat such a gulp would send down his throat. "Sir, what's going on?"

He looked past her to the vendor again. "Honestly, you might want to hit the pavement. It might get ugly here."

Zeshoy's brow furrowed as she turned to the vendor. Politely, she informed him that she was a police officer, and it would be best if he did evacuate the area. She cited "a possible public health hazard" for an explanation. Which wasn't an explanation at all.

"You too, Inspector."

"No way. I'm sticking it out right here. It's my shift for the stake-out." She blew on the lid of her drink before taking another sip, slightly bigger than the others before it. She'd been holding it long enough to know it was starting to cool. "Besides, what sort of detective would I be if I didn't stay on top of my own case?"

He nodded. "Good point," he said. "I assume you've been briefed on the situation?"

"Possible third victim at an empty lot, with a location that doesn't exist. My bet's on an invisible slab myself."

He chuckled softly at the old Company Joke, taking another sip of his drink as he looked across the street. "The Commander's suspicions as well," he said, licking the hot fluid from his lip. It tasted faintly of cherries and chocolate. "He believes it may be an illegal use of a perception filter, or a similar device."

She shook her head. "I doubt that. PFs don't hide Rift signatures. I'm thinking this spot's used as a jump point of some sort."

He stared at her as she stood watching the empty lot across the street. "We haven't-"

"You're not the only one with recources, Dr. Tyler," she said. "Besides, how'd you think I knew to call you lot in to take a look at Rygel?" Smiling, she chuckled to herself, holding her drink more for the warmth it provided rather than for sustenance. "Do you plan on avoiding the green elephant, or are you going to tell me why you're really here, sir?"

"It's a pink, or purple depending on who you ask. Most definately not green." He sipped his drink, shifting his weight to his other foot and turning so that it appeared the two were merely having a pleasant conversation. But his ears remained perked, and his eyes watched from the corners the empty lot across the way.

"Well?"

"This does not go on the record, do you understand me," he said in a low voice.

She nodded her understanding slowly. "Off the record. I'll say I got the information from a hacker down in Ignatius Slums."

"No. You repeat this to no one. I'm only telling you this because I want things to go as smooth as possible. If the police catch a sense of this, it is your duty to cover it up. Is that clear?"

"What you're asking me to do is completely unethical, sir."

He sighed, giving a small nod. "Alright. Then just suffice to say the remains from the Rygel incident showed signs of a similar case a very long time ago. We may be dealing with a Time Jumper."

"Sir, if I may be blunt," she paused, looking to him. He gave a subtle nod. "You lot up in the towers have strict control over all temporal travel used on this planet. You haven't even quite perfected it yet, so says the papers. And the government. How in the hell did someone get their hands on your tech?"

"It's not as clean-cut as that. We do have strict policy concerning Time- Tech, but not all of it in the universe is our's. Other civilizations are capable of the same thing. We just sort of... how can I explain this to you? Put our own spin on things. Creating new, efficient ways to go about it."

She nodded, following along while cutting her attention across the street. "So this guy's a offworlder?"

"It seems so, yes," he said. "Each site so far has been teeming with unstable energies."

"Thinnies," Zeshoy said. "We had lots of those back home on Icarus."

"Thinnies?"

"I'll explain later. But it's like, holes in the world, the universe, yeah? Makes people go insane. Takes 'em on vision quests or some bullshit."

The scientist considered this for a moment. He'd heard a rift called many things, but this was a first. "Something like that," he said, sipping his drink. Soon, silence fell between them. He leaned against the nearest wall, settling in for a long wait. But the inspector was anxious. As if a spring wound up far too tight.

---

Quin sat in front of the desk, looking over the print outs carefully as James sorted through his shelves. "I don't understand any of this," he said. "Are you sure this is the correct file?"

He nodded, but didn't stop to look at him. "Positive," he said, pulling down another book and thumbing through it before placing it back on the haphazard shelf. "There are no Rifts in the vicinity of New Gallifrey. A few side-swipes, but nothing anchored."

"I'm no rocket scientist," Quin replied. "But it looks to me like there's been a Rift anchored here for a few hundred years at least."

"Which is exactly why I'm trying to find my book on Old Gallifreyan history. That rift shouldn't be there, or even exist."

"So you think this might have something to do with the terraforming we did?"

He shook his head, placing another book on the shelf. "Damnit," he muttered under his breath as he went to another shelf. "I know it's here somewhere."

Quin sighed, laying the folder on the antique desk. "Sir, I could take a trip to the Compound and ask the librarians if they have-"

"No. For once, I'd like to be able to look something up without having to deal with those beurocrats," he snapped in frustration while pulling a stack of books off the shelf.

Quin shook his head. "Sir, at least let R&D handle this. That's what they're here for anyway, right? You're a completely different department, with more important things to deal with. Like the Sontaran invasion of Earth, for instance."

James groaned, the sound was muffled by a book. "That one sorts itself out."

"Okay, how about the Eye of Orion slipping into a pocket of time twenty years in the past and existing on an entirely different plane?"

"Not my concern," he replied. "Besides, it does that at regular intervals. It's a natural occurance."

"The lost moon of Poosh?"

"Ginger fixed it."

"The rise of New Skaro?"

"Never happens," he replied. "Thwarted by a joint efford of UNIT, Torchwood, and the Doctor in 2009 AD Earth Standard."

Quin shook his head, trying to rack his brain for another suggestion. "The rise of the New Time Lord Empire?"

At the mention of this, James stopped. Quin watched him as his movements after became rigid and angry rather than frustrated. "Don't you have a building full of tea boys to manage," he forced out, his tone much darker than Quin had ever heard it. And that was saying a lot.

"No," he said. "Not at the moment." He knew he had struck a cord with that last one, but it was too late to ease off of the subject now. "The records state that a group of-"

"That one remains untouched," James spat. "For good reason."

He sighed, rising from the chair. "Well, I just thought-"

It was then the commander chose to spin around, throwing the books in his arms to the side. Thankfully, the ancient volumes landed on the dingy cot in the corner rather than the floor. "You weren't thinking!" he snapped angrily. "We've got a madman on the loose, killing innocent people, and all you want to do is go off and have a great time tumbling through space!"

Quin squared his jaw. He'd been on the receiving end of the commander's fits of anger before. He knew, or believed he knew, how to handle those sorts of situations. "Sir," he said, trying to keep an even tone. "I suggested it because there seems to be similarities between certain aspects of the case and events of that-"

"There are no similarities," James said. "There aren't any now, and there won't be. That part of history is to remain untouched and time locked. Is that understood, Mr. Verta."

Quin winced at the use of his surname, knowing that it was a command and not a question.

* * *


	6. A1 Chapter 5

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Doctor Who. I don't own Torchwood. They belong to our lord and masters, the BBC.**

* * *

**TORCHWOOD-TIME LORDS**

**Act 1 - The Archives; Chapter 5**

He'd been told to leave it alone. But something in the way his commander had acted was off. It wasn't just off, it was absolutely WRONG. There was very little he had been allowed to know about his... what were they now? He still was not sure where their relationship stood. Certainly, they were far more than employee and employer. But would it have been right to call him...

He left this thought. There was a task at hand. He needed, he wanted to know more about Commander Harkness. And the only way he was going to find that out was through Them.

"Mr. Verta, the Librarian will see you now," the bright eyed, sepia toned woman at the desk said cheerfully. Far too cheerful than was necessary. She lifted a small glass case, and pressed a series of buttons before grasping a lever. "Please keep your arms at your sides at all times during transit. Make sure all of your personal belongings are secured to your person. Wikipedia is not liable for any injuries sustained while in transit due to neglect of proper transit procedures," she said in that same cheerful tone.

He quickly padded down his pockets, making sure everything was in place before she pulled the lever. This small act caused a large cyllindrical tube to descend from the ceiling. It was rather comical, the sudden change from a typical elevator or transmat system to a rather cliche form of science-fiction transport.

"Thank you for taking an interest in your local planet's library," the woman said as the suction began. He made the mistake of not closing his eyes beforehand, and found a sudden nausea set in as the ground, and the woman became another blur on his trip across the continent.

---

It happened so fast that the scientist didn't realize it was happening until the inspector's cup hit the ground and she was already running full pelt down the sidewalk.

"We've got a runner!" she shouted, tapping her earpiece. "Zeshoy in pursuit. All units in the area be on the look out of a class 4 species carrying a Judoon short range blaster."

Medicus was having to push himself to catch up with her as she reached out and grabbed a lightpost, using it to swing herself around quickly and dart down a sudden 90 degree angle.

"Suspect is believed to be carrying classified Torch data. Capture! Do not kill!" Zeshoy barked before cutting contact. Medicus managed to catch up to her again.

"We'll never catch 'em on foot!"

"You're right. We need wheels. You catch a ride, I'll keep on the trail. I'm faster than you anyhow."

"Insp-"

"Just GO!" she shouted as she strained to push herself harder, trying to close the gap.

---

The transport tube dropped him on the carpet with a grunt. And it was far less dignified than when he had tripped in the office at the last multi-planetary holiday celebration mixer and spilled a tray full of Pan Galactics all over the Chief Xaxian of the Lumi tribes of Eldoras 7. At least then, a provocative landing after a fall was seen as an invitation to go see a dirty movie while wearing clown noses.

This, however, was more amusing than that odd evening had been. Though, it was more amusing for those who watched him tumble out of the transport tube and land with his rump raised high in the air.

He quickly got to his feet and tried to brush himself off in an attempt to ignore the heat that became a sudden and seemingly permanent fixture on his face.

"Why didn't you just take the transmat?!" a man called out. "Or a hover?!"

"Oh thank heavens," Quin said, making quick work of closing the gap between them. "We need to get out of this room, right now. And go talk."

"What's the rush?" he replied with a laugh. "You just got here. And I don't think all of Reception's seen your-"

"Out of here. NOW," he snapped, dragging the other man from the room.

---

"Damnit! I can't get a clear shot!"

A bike shot past her, circling back a bit before hovering as the scientist waited for her to reach him.

Medicus smirked as she slowed her pace a little. "Need a lift, Inspector?"

"A scooter?! This is the best you could come up with?!"

"We can argue about this later. We need to catch up with Speedy Gonzalas."

"Speedy who?"

He shook his head, taking off his helmut and handing it to her. "Hop on. We might still be able to catch up."

She stradled the seat behind him, wrapping one arm around his waist for an anchor while the other pulled the helmut on her head. "Follow that messenger!" she shouted, pointing in the direction she'd lost sight of her prey. The scooter shot forward, and Inspector Zeshoy tightened her grip on the Torchwood scientist.

"Get us close, and I'll fire off a tracker!"

"What?" he called back.

"Just get us close!" she repeated, louder, as she pulled out her blaster, using her mouth to change the setting.

---

It was a long walk to the private office of the head Librarian. He was grateful when a cup of coffee was set down on the table between them. He picked it up and inhaled the rich aroma of the most delicious brew he had ever been given the pleasure of tasting.

"What brings you so far from the Towers without your escort, Mr. Verta?" the man, the Librarian asked, settling down into the plush chair on the other side of the small table. "And taking the tubes no less. Is the transmat not working?"

"It's not that," Quin said. "I'm here on... unofficial business." He paused, taking the first sip of his coffee and savoring every ounce of it before speaking again. "The tubes are the only transport system that can't be traced."

"Why wouldn't you want that?"

"Because the Commander must never know I came here. Not today, and not for the information I need."

He nodded, picking up his own coffee and smiling as he leaned back. He, too, inhaled deeply the aroma, savoring it nearly as much as his own first sip. Such a brew was a precious comodoty on their world. It was broken out only for the most esteemed of guests. "How may we put Wikipedia to use for you today, Mr. Verta?" he asked at last.

Quin was silent at first, trying to recall his mental list of items he wanted to research. Normally, he would have written them out by hand, then rewritten them in the order of importance. But the need for a lack of paper trail had prompted him not to do so. "I need to know about a specific event in Earth history. An event that may or may not have happened."

"Time travel must be involved," he said with a sigh. "And since it's Earth, I can take a wild guess as to who. But there's a lot of events matching that criteria. I'm going to need more substantial-"

He took a large gulp of his coffee, drawing from it the resolve he needed to say the words out loud for a second time. To brace himself for the reaction he may receive based on what little he knew already.

"Lowry," he said at last. "I need to know everything you have about the rise of the New Time Lord Empire."

The Librarian stared at him, and it was quite unfriendly a thing, though the look was so natural on his face. "Why?" he asked, his tone dark and suspicious of the administrative office support coordinator in front of him.

"I can't explain it," Quin said as he put his cup down and met the stare with one of his own, hoping that the thoughts behind it may translate into his words. "But you've been keeping up with the recent bizzare news in the central city, right? The recent killings?"

He nodded slowly, but his expression did not change.

"I think they have to do with what I need to know. When I mentioned it to the Commander, he refused to accept the theory. I know it sounds ridiculous but-"

"To be honest, Mr. Verta," Lowry replied, his tone much lower, as if he were speaking of something far more dangerous. "We've been working that same angle ourselves."

* * *

A/N - Okay, I have to admit, I really do think that in the far distant future, Wikipedia will be the only reliable source of information available, and will built itself up into a giant library empire. This thought both amuses and scares the heck out of me.


	7. A1 Chapter 6

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Doctor Who. I don't own Torchwood. They belong to our lord and masters, the BBC.**

* * *

**TORCHWOOD-TIME LORDS**

**Act 1 - The Archives; Chapter 6**

"You have got to be kidding me," he said in awe.

The Librarian leaned against the server port. "Afraid not," he said calmly. "We have been trying to compile records concerning the Non-Event for going on 50 years now. There were very few who remembered, and still far less than that who left record of what had happened."

"How were you able to gather so much information? Not even the Archives -"

At this, the Librarian gave a soft chuckle. "Some of it is personal recollection, so the reliability is not completely accurate. And, since Wikipedia is independent of the Archives, we're more open to... other... forms of intelligence gathering."

Quin smirked, removing the goggles and the VR gloves."Black market operations, I'll wager."

"I can neither confirm nor deny such accusations," Lowry said, mock innocence upon his features. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

He sighed. "Not quite, but enough to help with the investigation. I flagged everything I need. Would it be possible to have it copied to a thumb drive?"

At this, the older man stared at him before bursting into a full fit of laughter. "Seriously? Now you're the one that's got to be kidding me. That tech is obsolete by a few... oh.... billion years. I may be able to burn it onto a fillament, or transfer it into-"

"Is there anything you can copy the files to that IS compatable? I need to store it on tech that's so outdated no one will suspect it."

After a moment, the Librarian shook his head. "I might be able to rig something up, but jiggery-pokery isn't exactly my forte. I'll need to call in some help."

Quin thought about it. He needed that information, what little there was. Then, he nodded in defeat. "Do what you have to do. But if word reaches the Commander..."

"You were never here and this is my own personal pet project," Lowry said with a sarcastic smile. "You should know by now all of your secrets are safe with me, Quin. Besides, I love participating in inter-office espionage. It's actually quite fun, given the most excitement around here is when we mix The Brew."

---

Searching through his office turned personal library, the Commander had forgotten where his ancient tome had gone. The year before, he'd leant it to his half- brother. The topographical maps and temporal theories were believed to be of great use in his research. Especially since the discoveries in the Naenh Theta Trench during that time.

Only when Quincy had left him to his bitter thoughts did he remember. However, knowing Medicus and the other squints in R&D, he was unsure if he would be able to reclaim such an artifact without red tape, and even in one piece.

He'd told his receptionist to hold all calls, if he received any. Most lately had been concerning the Case, but a few rogue messages had been requests for meetings, appearances at various social functions. Everything he didn't like to deal with. Everything he deligated to Quincy, or, more often, Jenny.

These things rambled and rolled through his mind as he rode the elevator to the R&D levels. He hated the transmat, to be honest. It always made him queasy. The transporter wasn't much better. That one always left him craving beer and peanuts, and gave him an aftertaste of pennies and black licorice. If he'd ever meet the being that created such travel methods, he decided he'd have a word or two on what could be done to prevent such side effects. Especially the pennies and black licorice.

The doors slid open. Gears groaned loudly as they cranked away, hidden between thick sheets of alloy metals with perhaps fiberglass coatings. It reminded him of the state of the art buildings from his childhood. Skyscrapers reaching towards the clouds, with tightly enclosed starewells hidden from view, but serving as an alternate route from floor to floor. And the elevators blasting muzak in a hopeless attempt to keep agitated passengers calm and peaceful.

But these thoughts occupied his mind only briefly.

For when he took his first step out of the service elevator, and came out into the blinding lights of the uppermost level of R&D, he heard the unmistakable clack of metal, and stared down the barrels of many rifles pointed his way.

"Commander Harkness, you are under arrest," a young woman snapped sharply from the back of the circle of security personel.

He raised his hands slowly, looking at those pointing the guns at him. "I think I left the gas on downstairs," he said, darting quickly back into the elevator. The doors, ancient and strong, took too long a time to close.

He reached into the deep pockets of his brown coat, pulling out a slim device. He aimed it at the control panel.

"Fire!"

Before his thumb could press the button, and bypass the lift's speed controls, he slumped backwards against the wall of the small compartment.

"What the..." he began to fade from consciousness as he felt the device being pulled from his hand.

"Search every pocket and confiscate all posessions. He's known for using even a piece of lint to escape capture," the woman's voice snapped once again.

His eyes slid closed as hands violated his trouser pockets. Darkness swept over him. And once again, he cursed the day he was born, but not before swearing in a long dead language at his predicament.

All consciousness left him. But all knew it was only a matter of time before the death of their former leader would no longer be a fact. They had to work quickly. Take everything from every pocket, and bind his hands. They had to make sure the bloodied chest wouldn't rise again until well after they had thrown him into a cell.

Even if it meant they had to kill him a second time between the elevator and the prison floors.

---

Quincy poured over the documents. They had been careful to encrypt them before transferring them five times from device to device. And now, he sipped coffee in his flat, staring at the laptop he had brought with him four years ago from Earth.

And he couldn't believe what he was seeing. It was far more than he had hoped for, far more than he had flagged.

A window appeared in the corner of his screen.

Though he'd already mastered much of the technology and software the Torchwood Archives had to offer, he still had a soft spot for good old fashioned Earth-made programs. As such, he'd managed, or rather James had managed after much jiggery-pokery (of which he claimed to have earned a degree in) linked up his eons outdated computer and programs to access an alternative version of what passed for an internet.

Though, this was the first he had ever seen of someone sending him an instant message this far away from his homeworld. He found himself more troubled than amused by the message he received from the unknown sender. Quickly, he ran his scanners, testing for any abnormal frequencies. Anything strange that he could possibly imagine. Just like James had told him.

But they all came back clean. All ended with nothing malicious found.

The words worried him greatly, but the name beside them in bright blue intrigued him. He tried to puzzle it out. Surely it wasn't his Commander. His eyes glanced over the list to the right of the screen. No. The cheeky name that occasionally cropped up was not listed. Not visible.

He sipped his coffee, and sighed. He would not respond, simple as that. He would just turn off the sound and ignore it. Minimize it so that should the person send another text to him, it would not pop up in the corner of his screen again.

He gave it no second thought, even as the door of his flat was kicked in.

When he got to his feet, the first thing he saw was the steel grip of a rifle crashing against the side of his face.

* * *

A/N - I really like that Quin, when living and working at the farthest point possible in the future... still likes to use 20-21st century stuff. I really like this, as it gives him a sense of normalcy where otherwise it's all such a push-button reality he's stuck in. n.n


	8. A1 Chapter 7

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Doctor Who. I don't own Torchwood. They belong to our lord and masters, the BBC.**

* * *

**TORCHWOOD-TIME LORDS**

**Act 1 - The Archives; Chapter 7**

"There's no escape!" she shouted, her blaster gripped tightly in both hands. Set to stun. After all, the primary objective was to secure the supposed third victim. Take them to a protected cell. Make sure whoever was out to kill them wouldn't be able to.

"We're not here to harm you!" Inspector shouted.

The runner looked back and forth before stealing a glance upwards.

The scientist took a step closer. "We have a tracer on you," he said. "There's no point running."

Zeshoy held her blaster tightly as she edged forward. The runner was jumpy. She'd warned her incidental partner of the blaster she'd seen strapped to the runner's hip. Told him to keep his hands visible. They didn't want to come across as a threat.

"Please," Zeshoy said, lowering the business end of her blaster slightly. "I am Inspector Zeshoy. This is my partner Dr. Tyler from Torchwood. Your life is in danger. We've been ordered to take you to a secure location, for your own safety."

"The packet," the runner said, glancing upwards again. "I have to deliver-"

"We'll help you take care of that. But right now, we need you to trust us."

As the inspector kept the runner's attention, the other was carefully creeping closer. He didn't have a plan, exactly. But figured he could tackle them and work on it from there. Zeshoy continued to move forward, trying to talk to their target. Trying to gain his trust.

"I must deliver the packet," he said, jumping high, his arms outstretched with hands in a claw-like position.

She raised her blaster to fire. She'd just pulled the trigger, letting loose a stunning blow when she heard the boom of a more heavy duty piece of artillery.

The runner dropped from the side of the building like a sack of rocks to the pavement. Zeshoy's ears rang as she ran to the body, searching him for injuries. The runner's eyes went wide as she flipped him over, and his mouth twisted in terror as she heard the click of metal, and felt the cold chill of steel behind her ear.

"Step away from the target, Inspector."

His voice was cold. Cold as the air she breathed in.

She drew a slow, steady breath as she mentally ran through the situation. Her eyes leaving the dying man before her to scan the alley for ways to escape. This close to her assailant, she may be able to turn his advantage against him. "What are you doing, sir?" she asked, her voice even.

"Drop the blaster and keep your hands where I can see them."

She knew better than to ignore him. Slowly, she did as she was told, her eyes moving back to the runner. He was bleeding profusely. He wouldn't survive this encounter. She raised her hands, and her eyes locked with their target. She tried to convey her apologies, her condolences to him.

She watched as he looked away, his eyes cutting to the strap on his wrist. She followed his gaze. Perhaps... if they were lucky...

The scientist grabbed her roughly by her hair, pulling her back. "I didn't want to get you involved in this," he said. "You could have gone so far. You could have just handed over the case to someone else."

She had to make a distraction. Something, anything. Give the runner time to do what she had hoped he meant when he looked away. "I won't tell anyone," she said. "I won't spill a word. This never happened."

"Units are already on their way, remember?" he said. "You called in reinforcements."

"Yeah," she gambled. "I did. If you kill me here, you'll have to explain-"

"The target fired their illegal weapon and took you out. I fired mine in self defense when they turned on me."

"I don't understand," she said, taking a gamble and shifting her position to hide the runner's arm as it went for the device strapped to his waist. "Why are you doing this? You're a scientist, not a killer."

"I'm doing my duty," he said, "For the Empire."

He pulled the trigger, but he was too late.

The scatter shot broke apart as it left the barrell, slamming into the pavement in a compacted hail of metal and lead where the Inspector and the Runner had been seconds before.

---

He was the first to wake. Groaning as he lightly touched the side of his head.

"Welcome back, Starshine," came a familiar voice. "Don't get up too fast. They hit you pretty hard."

Slowly, he opened his eyes, and found he needed to shield them from the brightness of the light. "What... James?"

"Right-o," came the reply. He was close, but his voice was distorted, as if...

Quincy sat up, and instantly regretted his decision as disorientation hit him like a brick to the side of his already throbbing head. He held his stomach, feeling as if he was going to hurl its contents onto the floor. "Where the... Is this the cells?"

"Yep."

"Where are you?"

"I'm your neighbor, apparently. Saw them drag you in past me. How's your head?"

"Hurts like hell," the administrator said back through the vent James' voice had been drifting through. It was small, far too small for anyone, even a child to crawl through. But it wasn't entirely out of reach.

"What? Talk louder. Can't hear you too well."

"I said it hurts like hell!" he snapped back, and winced at the sound of his voice. The confines of the cells amplified the sound. A special sort of torture, he guessed.

"Don't ask me why," James said as Quin had opened his mouth to do just that. "But I think that they think we're the bad guys. Hell, for all I know, we might just be. That's the thing about time travel. One wrong move from an agent and WHAM! Everyone's speaking German!"

"This is hardly a change in national language," he said dryly, shifting to sit on the cot below the vent. Gently, he probed the side of his head, trying to assess the damage inflicted on him.

"Quin?"

"Yeah?"

"Did they put you in a straight jacket?"

"What? Why would they... you didn't hit anyone, did you?"

"Self defense, I assure you," the commander replied, giving laugh. Quin shook his head and let himself smile, just a small one.

"So how do you suppose we'll get out of this one? You said yourself that nothing can escape Jennifer's holding cells."

"These aren't holding cells," came the grim reply. "This is the prison."

Quin sighed, allowing his head to slump forward. He had only heard about the prison. He and James in their various missions and adventures had used it as a deterrent. And it was far more effective than he'd thought it would be. No one came back from the Torchwood prison. Not even in death.

There was no escape, he knew. But he also knew that their opossition had made one fatal error.

They put the Commander and his companion in cells side by side.

"Hey, want to play a game?" James called from the other end of the vent. "We're going to be stuck here for a long time. May as well make the best of it, eh?"

The time displaced Earthling had to smile, even though the muscles in his face ached to do so. He didn't know how long ago they had been put in the cells. But already the other man was formulating a plan, drawing on a "game" they had played while on a planet where all communication was done through questioning.

"Sure, I'll play," he said, lifting his head and turning to press the side of it against the cold steel panel. "I'll even let you go first."

"Good man. First question. Do you have a bit of string?"

* * *

A/N - this is the last "written" chapter for this story at this point in time. I have the full outline, I just need to get the inspiration to go back to it. So... yeah. That's where this stands at the moment. Hiatus.


End file.
